TRSHR
by SaraiEsq
Summary: While taking out the fleet's trash with the current class of cadets in tow, Starbuck and the other Colonial Warriors find something they weren't expecting.


Jolene was not an idiot. She had read the bio scan display correctly. She'd been in biosciences before signing up to become a Colonial Warrior, after all. There was something _alive_ in the floating, tumbling bundle of trash, something more than an unlucky rodent or three. Something _human_ , if her data were correct. The display might not be exactly the same kind she'd used before but she was right, she knew it. Now, she just had to prove it to her instructor. "Scanning again now, sir," Cadet Jolene said evenly, resetting the scanner and starting again.

In a nearby viper, Captain Apollo acknowledged Jolene then settled in to wait for her revised report. The cadet had promise but she sometimes jumped to conclusions a bit too quickly. In this case, he suspected she'd rushed the scan, mistaking a carbon trace for life signs. She must have made a mistake when she scanned the trash packet – called a TRSHR – and reported a lifeform inside.

Although there were often small vermin trapped in the refuse jettisoned by the Fleet, pets or other larger lifeforms did not make it into the TRSHRs the Fleet used for target practice. Pets were rare and carefully guarded by their owners to prevent mishaps of one kind or another. They didn't run amok in the ships, hiding in the small spaces inaccessible to humans as they might on a planet, and there were neither feral nor wild animals.

And they certainly couldn't survive for long in the partially sealed pockets of atmosphere. The TRSHRs, collected from various ships, were loaded onto refuse barges. The barges themselves were huge and had minimal atmosphere since most of the work was done remotely with cranes and grapples. Periodically, the barges fell to the end of the convoy, released the TRSHRs and allowed them to drift away, turning them into targets for cadets who needed live fire experience or viper pilots who'd failed to maintain standards in the simulators.

Besides, he thought, unless there was a sizable colony of rodents, the scanners would not pick up any lifeforms at this range. He nodded absently to himself as the cadet edged her viper forward and to one side, presumably to get a better reading. If she was having difficulty finding the life signs again, she just might have to admit to making a hasty conclusion. It could only improve her attitude.

As he waited, Apollo listened to the comm traffic from the other groups of vipers engaged in training the newest group of pilot recruits. Boomer was leading six vipers in formation flying, coaxing the pilots into closer and closer proximity with their comrades, building the trust of the squadron's newest members in each other and themselves. Although Jolly had the actual overwatch position for the next hour or so, Apollo knew Boomer's sensors were also actively scanning for any sign of Cylons, their location at the end of the convoy extending the reach of the Fleet's defensive net that much further. Training and TRSHR disposal were only two of the reasons for these flights.

Meanwhile, Starbuck patiently instructed his cadet in the gentle art of blowing things up, in particular the floating hunks of trash. Right now, he was demonstrating a precision strike, using a low-power setting of his lasers. "Now, Mareteen, watch how I just kiss that TRSHR and set it tumbling," Starbuck said, firing at one of the bundles. Apollo was able to see the lasers streak out, knocking just the edge off the TRSHR and, as Starbuck had predicted, set it tumbling. "A hit on the other side," he continued, matching word and deed, "and the rotation is negated. See?" The spin of the TRSHR directly in front of him slowed noticeably. "Alright, you try it with your target."

"Yes, sir," Mareteen replied, angling his viper forward for the shot on "his" bundle of junk. When he'd scanned his TRSHR earlier, under Captain Apollo's watchful eye, he'd gotten an idea of the structure and composition of the floating heap. There was nothing remarkable or dangerous about it which would warrant using such low power on the lasers. Besides he'd always gotten better results with the higher energy lasers. "Firing," he stated formally, depressing the red button and watching the destructive light spew out of his viper. He swallowed a curse when his shot missed, barely wide of the mark.

"Miss," Starbuck reported. "Looks like you're pulling your shot just a bit, probably a hangover from the simulators. Nothing to worry about. Try again," he prompted.

"Sir," Marteen responded. Then, without clearing the action with Starbuck, Marteen increased the setting; he fired again, scoring a direct hit due in part to the diffused beam. The TRSHR exploded in a fiery ball that space quickly snuffed out.

"Good hit, Mareteen," Starbuck said dryly into the silence. "Now, that you've introduced some motion into the scenario, reverse the spin on that TRSHR."

"Sir, I –," he began, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What's the matter, cadet," Starbuck continued, "having a little problem with that order?"

Apollo chuckled in the privacy of his viper as his wingman took the youngster to task. _Anyone_ could blast a stationary target to smithereens with a high-power laser, even if the beam wasn't exactly on target. When it came to fast moving targets, like, say, Cylon fighters, however, the targeting needed to be accurate since beam diffusion alone could not compensate for the relative motion.

Cadet Jolene's voice broke into his thoughts and he flicked on his own lifeform scanners again. "Captain Apollo, I am still getting a reading, sir, although it is fluctuating now." After a quick inhale, she added, "The rotation of the TRSHR may be causing that." It was, Apollo noted, the same TRSHR Starbuck was using for demonstration purposes with Mareteen. Starbuck had a light enough touch that he could use the same hunk of trash all afternoon, spinning it and paring it down bit by bit, until nothing was left.

"Verifying," Apollo replied as his scanner came online with a final green blink. His eyes narrowed as he studied the screen. There _was_ definitely _something_ there, but the reading was partially shielded, cut off in an unnaturally sharp line. "I see … something now. Jolene, what was the composition of this TRSHR?" he asked and listened as she rattled off a list of substances. "Wait, did you say diselium?"

"Yes, sir," she responded crisply.

"Is your image distorted at all?" he asked urgently, grabbing the control stick of his viper.

"No, sir. I mean, it was before, but not at this angle. I couldn't find it at first when I rescanned so I repositioned –." The speed and precision with which Apollo's viper aligned next to hers caused her words to fail.

His scanner readings – no longer distorted by the diselium – clearly showed a lifeform bigger than a rodent or a wayward feloid and Apollo's hazel eyes grew wide. _Human!_ his brain shrieked at him as weak lasers streaked toward the TRSHR again and set it atumble once more. The image shifted as Starbuck's calm pedantic voice reached his ears: "And now a nudge on the other side –."

"STARBUCK! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!" Apollo bellowed into the squadron's all-comm, praying he was in time to stop –.

/++==++==++/

The Colonial Warrior barked out his order as he strode across the Officer's Club, eyes dull and hard. Rufills had seen that look, heard that tone of voice more than once since he'd begun working at the bar and he hurried to pour the requested spirits into a mug for the approaching pilot. Starbuck's long, tanned fingers gripped the mug tightly and he raised it to his mouth, drinking down the contents in a single sustained swig. He held out the silvery tankard for more and Rufills quietly poured a second portion. As the contents of the tankard disappeared down the pilot's throat in a similarly alarming fashion, Starbuck seized the back of the barstool with his free hand to maintain his balance.

Before the signaled-for third draught could follow, the ship's all-comm sounded: "Lieutenant Starbuck, _report_ at once to debriefing. Lieutenant Starbuck, report _at once_ to debriefing."

"Frack!" Starbuck's emotions freighted the word with a dark bitterness but the all-comm's order left him with no real choice. He put the mug down.

Rufills started at the harshness of the lieutenant's voice; the hexagonal bottle in his hand slipped and clattered noisily against the countertop before he regained his grip. The sound caused Starbuck to glance at the barman apologetically. "Careful now! It wouldn't do to waste the Old Hex on anyone but me, would it?" he said with a half-smile. "Anyways, looks like I'm wanted elsewhere, Rufills." He pushed away from the stool and stalked less vigorously back across the room, pausing at the entry way to toss back over his shoulder one final request: "Save the rest of that bottle for me, eh?"

/++==++==++/

Starbuck's thumb leapt away from the red firing button as though he had been burned, his reflexes jerking the nose of the viper up slightly as well. His shot went wide, spending itself harmlessly in empty space.

"ALL CADETS, CEASE FIRE AND HOLD POSITIONS!" Apollo repeated a final time, prompting a cascade of acknowledgements.

"Apollo?" Starbuck asked, easing his viper back almost to his former location. Sensing it was not the time to joke, he resisted adding a flippant remark about the shout causing him to miss his mark for the first time today.

"Turn on your bio scans, Starbuck," the other man responded, the adrenaline racing through his veins making his breathing uneven and audible over the comm.

"Holy Lords of Kobol," Starbuck breathed into the comm a moment later when his scan stabilized and clearly showed a human lifeform inside the TRSHR he'd been taking potshots at for the last thirty minutes. He swallowed hard, forcing the bile that rose from his stomach back down. "I see it – but how did someone get inside of a TRSHR and _survive_?"

"I don't know but right now, we need to worry about keeping him alive. Ideas?"

"Well, I think using lasers would be a bad idea," Starbuck replied, dredging up a scrap of humor to calm his nerves. "How 'bout lassoing it with our cables and towing it back to the Fleet?"

"That might work," Apollo agreed. "We also need to scan all of the other TRSHRs, thoroughly. Who knows how many others are –." The sound of gagging, from Cadet Mareteen's viper, cut him off.

"Easy, kid, easy," Starbuck murmured on the channel they'd been using during the exercise, slipping closer to the youngster's viper to get an eyeball on him. It looked like he'd managed to contain most of the vomit in the receptacle for that purpose. He'd still have a job cleaning up once they got back to the Galactica and the next few hours were not going to be pleasant. As he talked to Mareteen, calming him down and getting his head back into the game, Starbuck heard Apollo continue issuing orders for the retrieval of the misfortunate soul in the TRSHR.

"Cadet Jolene, if I didn't say it before: good work."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now – until _I_ tell you differently – your only job is to keep that TRSHR in your scanners and report any changes in life signs or structural integrity. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," Jolene replied crisply and took up her watch. She _had_ been right … but the warm glow from Captain Apollo's thanks burned away any childish impulse she might have possessed to say 'I told you so'.

"Boomer, bring your group back," Apollo ordered next. "We have a situation here…."

/++==++==++/

The blonde lieutenant made it halfway down the corridor before his stomach rebelled from the harsh liquor he'd poured into it so precipitously. A few quick steps brought him to the conveniently located head. Starbuck burst into a stall in the nick of time, retching violently. When he was finished, he rose shakily then rinsed his mouth with icy cold water until his innards steadied. _Well, at least I won't be drunk_ , he thought as he re-entered the corridor, _during the debriefing now._

/++==++==++/

Boomer cursed as the cable loop slipped off the TRSHR's protrusion for the third time. "There's just too much rotation, Captain," he reported with frustration. "If we could slow it just a little bit, maybe I could …." His voice trailed off. Firing another laser at the TRSHR could bring it apart, with dire consequences for whoever was inside, but it was the only realistic option. Physically nudging it would be even more risky and likely to damage viper, TRSHR, or both.

"Move back," Starbuck said crisply, before Apollo could respond. "I'll take care of it." As Boomer's viper fell away, Starbuck slipped forward, calculating the rotation vectors, vectors he'd initiated, and aligning himself appropriately.

"Easy, Starbuck," murmured Apollo.

"I got this," he replied and, after double-checking his power setting, fired a millisecond burst. It lanced out and barely brushed the edge of the TRSHR farthest away from where the unknown person still was. The TRSHR's spin slowed. "Now try, Boomer," Starbuck said, sliding out of the way again.

"Cadet?" Apollo asked as Boomer moved back into position.

Jolene responded promptly to his shorthand request: "Life signs, stable." There was a pause then: "Structural integrity, stable."

"Go ahead, Boomer."

"Right," Boomer replied. "C'mon now, little daggit, come to Uncle Boomer," he urged as he maneuvered the cable loop toward the nearly motionless TRSHR. "Alright!" he exclaimed as the loop tightened and held on the first try.

"Good job," the captain said. "Now, let's get the others on here. Anders, you move in. Tiras, you'll be next. It should be easier now that Boomer has it stabilized. If we need a fourth, …."

/++==++==++/

When he entered, Starbuck glanced at the dozen or so cadets who had arranged themselves along the edges of the room, remembering a time when he would have been standing at the fringes of an after action report, with little to add. Now, his seat was at the utilitarian table in the heart of the action, alongside Apollo and Boomer. It wasn't where he wanted to be just now but he had no choice. Just as he reached it, Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh appeared in the hatchway and everyone snapped to attention.

"Stand easy," Adama said, taking his own seat. The occupants of the room resumed seats or relaxed postures accordingly. "Captain Apollo. Report. What happened out there?"

"Sir," Apollo said, standing. "We were conducting a training exercise behind the Fleet. In addition to formation flying, we were using TRSHRs for scan and target practice when one of the cadets, Cadet Jolene, …."

/++==++==++/

Apollo and Starbuck watched as the TRSHR was carefully tugged back toward the Fleet under Boomer's direction. Cables attached four vipers to the hulk which outmassed them by at least four-to-one despite its relatively compact form. Two other vipers were snugged in close behind the odd caravan, keeping constant watch on the scans and reporting any fluctuations.

"Those cadets are certainly getting their money's worth on this training exercise," Starbuck commented wryly to Apollo on the direct comm.

"I'll say," he replied with a chuckle before sobering again.

Getting the TRSHR on the way had been the first priority. The best flyers in the cadet group had been tasked to that mission, leaving the combat veterans available and untethered for defense if the need arose. The remaining cadets had been dispersed to run multiple lifescans on the other 22 TRSHRs.

Not a blip had been found.

"Heard back from Tigh yet?" Starbuck asked. "We'll be running short of fuel before too long."

"I know – and no, not yet," Apollo replied. He'd sketched the situation for Colonel Tigh on the Galactica, asking what Command wanted done with the other TRSHRs. It was important, vital even, to cover the Fleet's back trail. No matter how much materiel was recycled and reused, a Fleet this size still produced a sizeable amount of detritus that had to be discarded. A trash wake was like a flashing neon sign, the refuse pointing the way to the remnant of humanity.

But destroying the TRSHRs would obliterate the evidence of wrongdoing – if there was any to be found – as well as any clues regarding what had transpired. And if there were human remains in the others, they would never know unless they towed them in or scraped them in place.

The comm unit crackled. "Training Squadron, this is Galactica."

"Training Squadron here," Apollo responded.

"We are standing by with medical and extrication teams. Return with the cadets ASAP." Tigh's voice was even and commanding.

"Acknowledged." Apollo said then, taking a deep breath, continued. "What about the other TRSHRs?"

There was a long pause before Adama's voice replaced that of Colonel Tigh. "Proceed with TRSHR destruction. Galactica out." The comm wave clicked off almost before Apollo could acknowledge the order.

"You heard the man," Starbuck said, flexing his hands around the control stick. There really wasn't another option. "How 'bout you take the kids home and leave the shooting to me?" he offered casually.

"I don't know –," began Apollo. He wasn't fooled by his wingman's attempt at off-handedness; Starbuck was settling the responsibility squarely on his own shoulders.

"Ah, you wouldn't want to spoil my fun, would you, buddy? I mean, the only reason I agreed to come out here with you was because you promised I could blow things up."

"Oh? I thought it was because you needed a few more instructor credits this quatron."

Starbuck sniffed airily. "My instructor credits were already maxed out."

"Ha! Don't be so sure of that, 'bucko," Apollo retorted. "Some of those individual instruction sessions I signed off on were mighty questionable."

"That's daggit drivel and you know it. I am an exceptional instructor … especially one-on-one." Apollo could hear the roguish smile in his best friend's voice. "Ask around."

"Uh-huh. I'll just do that." Apollo chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure you've got this?" he asked more softly.

"Yeah, I got it."

"When you and Jolly are done, come on in," Apollo said.

"Right."

Apollo switched to all-comm. "Cadets! Form up on me, we're heading back home, to Galactica. Jolly, you're with Starbuck."

/++==++==++/

"… At that point, the remaining cadets and I left the area and returned to the Galactica without incident," Apollo concluded.

"Thank you, Captain," Adama said, waving Apollo to his seat and shifting his eyes to Starbuck expectantly. The lengthy reports given by Apollo and Boomer had combined with the traces of Old Hex to lull Starbuck into a trance, seeing the TRSHR rotating slowly in his mind. Adama's voice pulled him back to the present. "Lieutenant Starbuck?" the commander prompted.

"Wha – , oh, right." Starbuck pulled himself up from a comfortable slouch to report. "Jolly remained in an overwatch position. I rescanned each TRSHR and then, finding no lifeform indications, used my lasers to destroy 'em. We checked the area one last time and returned to the Galactica. That's pretty much it, sir."

"You were almost out of fuel, I understand," Colonel Tigh put in, "when you arrived."

"Uhm, yes, I guess that's right," Starbuck agreed with a casual nod. He'd been on fumes, almost coasting in. The thought made him wish he could pull out one of his fumarellos.

"Why is that?"

"Sir?"

"Why were you so low on fuel compared to the other returning vipers – ."

"We were out the longest –," Starbuck began, blue eyes sliding away from the dark depths of the executive officer's.

"— _including_ Flight Sergeant Jolly?" Tigh's eyebrows rose sharply, almost daring him to contradict the facts.

"I, uh, I guess when scanning for lifeforms, sir, I burned more fuel than I realized. I didn't want to make any mistakes." _Any more mistakes_ , he added silently.

"Could you describe the procedure you used to scan the TRSHRs, Lieutenant Starbuck?" Adama asked calmly, discretely calling off Tigh.

"The one which used up my fuel? Or – ?" Starbuck shut his mouth abruptly.

"Would I be correct in assuming –."

"I used more than one method? Yes, sir."

"You ran multiple scans?"

Starbuck had fixed his eyes just above Adama's head but now he flicked his gaze downward to meet the commander's eyes squarely. "Yes, sir."

"Describe each one in turn, please."

"Each one." Starbuck's mouth went dry.

"Yes. And," he said, holding up a hand to forestall the lieutenant's next question, "in detail."

Starbuck blew out the breath he'd taken before Adama had stopped him, then nodded once, more to himself than anyone else. "Captain Apollo had assigned me to instruct the cadets in precision firing techniques. First, I located the 24 TRSHRs; they had been deposited by the trash barge in a line roughly perpendicular to the Fleet's path, as requested. I flew down the line and back, recording designations and hitting each with a composite scan as I passed. Nothing stood out in the readings," he added.

"That is standard procedure, is it not, Lieutenant?" Tigh asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Continue," Adama said after a few seconds of silence.

"After uh – ," Starbuck broke off. _Can't very well say, 'After I almost shot the frack out of a human being' I suppose_ , he thought wryly then cleared his throat. "After the lifeform was discovered, the cadets, working in pairs, were assigned to run a bio scan and a materials scan on each remaining TRSHR. Anything remotely outside the ordinary got a second look by either myself or Captain Apollo." He paused. "We found nothing."

"How many TRSHRs did the cadets scan?"

 _Trust Tigh to point that out_ , Starbuck thought wearily, although he kept his voice even. "Twenty-two."

"That's one short, isn't it, Lieutenant? Not counting the TRSHR being readied for towing, that is."

"Yes, sir. The other TRSHR had been, uh, prematurely destroyed during training." Out of the corner of his eye, Starbuck saw Cadet Mareteen shift from one foot to the other. _Relax, kid, I'm not going to use you as wild daggit bait._ "I had not emphasized the need to use only the low-power setting of the laser during the exercise. When the cadet scored a direct hit on the TRSHR, it was destroyed as a result. However, the cadet did scan the TRSHR before taking the shot. It was negative." Tigh's raised eyebrows suggested he hadn't been fooled by the explanation but Commander Adama gestured for Starbuck to continue.

 _Here goes nothing_. "Prior to destroying the TRSHRs, I personally scanned each for lifeforms and materiel. Initially, I flew, uhm, Karlova loops but, as Jolly pointed out, that was burning too much fuel. So, I, ah, we, switched to spin scans."

"Karlova loops?!" Tigh asked incredulously, trampling over Adama's exclamation concerning the spin scans. There was a quick contraction among the cadets as those who didn't recognize the flight maneuver by name were brought up to speed by those who did. Boomer tried to keep a smile from appearing by coughing into his hand while Apollo ducked his head slightly for the same purpose. Jolly simply leaned further back into his corner and enjoyed the show he'd been anticipating since Tigh had declined to accept the report at face value.

"Yes, sir, uh, sirs."

/++==++==++/

"Scan negative on A3487-D," Starbuck reported mechanically, backing off from the TRSHR. "Firing on A3487-D." His lasers leapt out and obliterated the TRSHR. "A3487-D destroyed." The sleek viper leapt forward toward the next TRSHR.

Jolly watched in amazement as Starbuck again executed a precise double loop around the next TRSHR, keeping the nose of his viper pointed toward the object and tracing the second loop at a full ninety degrees from the first. The TRSHR was bathed in Starbuck's scanners as a result, Jolly realized, revealing its every secret. It was a fancy piece of piloting.

He waited until Starbuck had straightened out his aerobatic flight path before contacting him. "Hey, Starbuck, take a little break." After nine consecutive TRSHRs, the other pilot's voice was showing signs of fatigue and stress.

"I'm fine," Starbuck replied stubbornly but held his position instead of proceeding. Jolly took it as a good sign.

"You're using up a lot of fuel the way you're flying," Jolly pointed out.

"Gotta get a good scan on 'em, Jolly."

"Well, keep it up and I'll be towing you back in, just like that TRSHR."

"Not sure Tigh would approve of that," Starbuck said, laughing suddenly at the image of Colonel Tigh storming into the landing bay, swooping up the tow cable, and demanding caustically, _What is the meaning of this?_

"Well, how 'bout letting me get in a few shots, then?" Jolly asked when their chuckles had eased. "You keep telling me I can use the practice."

"Thanks but, uh," he said, struggling for a legitimate reason Jolly couldn't help complete the assigned task. "I'd, uh, I'd rather – ."

"It's not your fault, Starbuck." Jolly's words dropped firmly into the other man's uncharacteristic pauses.

There was a long silence before the other pilot sighed. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," he said finally, watching the TRSHR in front of him rotate slowly, sharp edges glinting in the starshine. "But it is my … responsibility."

"Responsibility or not, you can't continue pirouetting around the TRSHRs and expect to have enough fuel to get back. We need to finish this and get back to the ship." He added after a pause: "They aren't waiting for us, you know." The reality that Galactica continued getting further and further away from them was inescapable, even at the relative crawl the Fleet was forced to maintain due to the slowest ships. It wasn't a critical metric, yet, but it would become one in time. And, Jolly knew, Starbuck realized it as well.

"Got any suggestions, then? Some of these things have opaques in them like that first one did. We've got to see it from all sides in order to verify it is clear of lifeforms." _That was the problem in the first place_ , he thought sourly.

"All sides, eh? Then why not spin 'em?"

"Spin 'em!? Are you crazy? What if someone else is – ." Starbuck cut himself off with a snap of his teeth.

"Then we'll be able to see them." Jolly paused. "It'll go faster if you let me help."

"I need you in overwatch."

"Felgercarb."

"It's, ah, standard procedure for training exercises."

Jolly laughed. "Never thought I'd hear _you_ quoting the rulebook, Starbuck! And anyway, I don't see any recruits around to protect at the moment, do you?"

"Ah, no," he admitted, relenting. "Okay. If you take position opposite me and slightly above .… "

/++==++==++/

" … I used my lasers to introduce rotation to the TRSHR then we dropped into position on opposite sides, above and below the plane of rotation, and scanned it. When we deemed it clear, Jolly would move out of range and I would use my laser to demolish the TRSHR. After we demolished the last one, we flew a final sweep of the training area, then turned for the Galactica."

"I see," Commander Adama said thoughtfully. "And you found nothing?"

"We detected no life signs, sir," Starbuck replied. The hatch door slid open quietly and a female medtech from the Life Center entered. His eyes fastened on her, watching as she handed a document to Colonel Tigh; the pilot's stomach clenched, knowing she probably was bringing word of the victim's condition. Tigh glanced at it briefly as the medtech left, touched Adama's arm to get his attention, and passed him the tablet.

"One moment, please," the commander said, gesturing for Starbuck to resume his seat as he began reading.

Personnel around the room stirred slightly during the pause. "Karlovas, Starbuck?" Apollo said sotto voce, leaning toward the blonde pilot.

"Seemed the right thing to do at the time," Starbuck responded in kind, sliding a fumarello out of his sleeve but slipping it back in with a sigh at Tigh's quelling glance. _That man has the eyes of a hawk when it comes to me._

"How many?" Boomer asked.

"I, ah, lost count, actually." Starbuck flicked his eyes back to Adama, wishing he could decipher from the older man's face the content of the update. It was important for him to know if the kid had died as a result of his actions or if he had been doomed from the start. Had the repeated spins flung him into the sides of his tomb, bashing him into bloody pulp? Had one of the laser bursts created a fissure that allowed the life gases to leak from the container just a bit too fast? Had he been unconscious the whole time, or awake and afraid?

Adama looked up, prompting Starbuck to avert his eyes. The commander cleared his throat, causing the sound level in the room to drop off sharply. "The Life Center has sent a preliminary report on the victim, which I think you all should hear. Patient is female, aged between nine and eleven yahrens, dark hair and eyes, possibly Geminid." Starbuck closed his eyes: _A little girl!_ "Shows some signs of malnutrition, minor bruises and contusions. Broken wrist, apparently sustained during her retrieval." Adama paused then, a smile lighting up his face and a warm pride filling his voice. "We don't yet know where she came from or how she got where we found her but, thanks to all of you, the Life Center thinks she will make a full recovery. Well done!"

"Wha –?" Starbuck exclaimed, eyes popping open. His comment was lost in the cheers and applause that swept through the room. Apollo clapped him on the back, smiling broadly, before noticing the shock on his face.

"Starbuck?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"I-I thought she h-hadn't made it," he stammered. "I heard some of the techs talking, when we got back, I mean, and …."

/++==++==++/

The landing bays of the Galactica seemed to welcome Starbuck and Jolly with open arms. Control had vectored them in and now Starbuck was on final approach. "Coming in light," he stated and reduced power as far as he dared, hoping he had conserved enough fuel to decelerate and brake sufficiently before slamming into the far wall. The viper dipped through the cavernous entrance and wavered before touching down then slowed as the reverse thrusters kicked in. Emergency bumpers deployed from the wall, cushioning his stop almost unnecessarily, then retracted neatly to allow the techs access.

Starbuck sighed wearily as the canopy lifted, pulling his helmet off and disconnecting himself from viper with the mindless ease of long habit. One of the techs began post-flight scans then whistled. "Lieutenant, that's cutting it awfully fine, sir," he said, holding the hand-held monitor up where Starbuck could see the bottomed-out reading.

"Better fill 'er up for me then, Mitchael," the pilot replied with a wink, exiting the cockpit, "before the boss notices. What's the word on that TRSHR, by the way?"

"Don't know, sir. They brought it in the other bay, I think." The tech ducked under the viper then, continuing his scans.

"Thanks," Starbuck said and crossed the bay, waving to Jolly who'd just shut down his viper. After cycling through the decon station, he headed for the lift; three technicians joined him before the doors closed, nodding once then ignoring him.

"Did you see the mess that came in with those recruits?" one of the techs said with a grimace.

"Oh, yeah. Glad I didn't have to help clean it up," a second tech responded.

"I caught a whiff of whatever it was and changed vectors," quipped the third, causing the techs to laugh together. Starbuck, in the back, merely smiled.

"Heard the kid was in pretty rough shape though," the second tech said more soberly.

"Think he'll make it?"

"Not likely," the first tech commented as they reached their level.

"What happened? Do you know?"

"Something about spinning TRSHRs, I think," he said, leading the others out.

Starbuck slumped against the back wall as the lift restarted. The kid wasn't likely to make it, probably already gone. "Frack," he breathed. The lift stopped unexpectedly and he realized he'd punched in a new destination. The doors slid apart and he stepped into the corridor, heading without hesitation away from the barracks and straight toward the Officer's Club.

/++==++==++/

Habit made it easy for Rufills to keep a pleasant look on his face when the group of Colonial Warriors entered. He spotted Starbuck in the midst of the crowd, a fumarello between his fingers and a wide grin splashed across his face. Rufills pulled out a dozen or so bottles of the grog the pilots preferred for their celebrations, and pushed the Old Hex back, tucking it behind a taller bottle of exotic liquor. Starbuck would not be needing it tonight.

"What's that?" asked Mareteen, whose sharp eyes had noticed the bartender's sleight of hand.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Mareteen," Starbuck said, throwing an arm over his shoulders and steering him toward the table where Jolene was being toasted. "Nothing you need to worry about, at all," he repeated, nodding at Rufills in agreement. He wouldn't need to lose himself in that bottle tonight.

/++==++==++/

The soft beeps and clicks of the monitors seemed doubly muted in the dim light of the Life Center later that night. Adama, with Tigh at his side, had come to check on the girl personally. The broken arm had been set in a cast instead of simply healed with a boneknitter; the casted arm looked huge and awkward – and out of place on the pillow next to the slender sleeping child. Her skin was pale except for the purpling bruises on her face and one exposed shoulder. Those bruises and the other marks, and what they might imply in this case, caused the reflection of Adama's face in the glass wall to grow grimmer.

He straightened his tunic, controlling his emotions, and turned to the doctor who had been handling the case. "She didn't respond to epsilon therapy?" Adama asked. Not everyone could make use of the newer techniques, their bodies rejecting the treatments which for others could heal bruises and scrapes in minutes, and mend broken bones in hours.

The doctor hesitated before responding, her eyes sliding toward Tigh briefly. "We didn't attempt them," she said finally.

"We needed to preserve the evidence, sir," Tigh put in before Adama could form his next question. The commander's lips tightened, anger flaring again, then he nodded.

"She _is_ resting comfortably," the doctor added. "We could administer the usual analgesics without compromising any of the … marks. Once we get good images of everything, we plan to give her epsilon therapy. She should be up and around in three days or less."

"Thank you, doctor," Adama replied, releasing her to return to the patient. The two men continued to stand just outside the room's transparent barrier. "I want to know, Tigh," Adama said quietly, meeting his XO's eyes. "I want to know what happened to her – and why." His dark gaze shifted suddenly, piercing the shadows behind Tigh.

"So do I," Starbuck said dryly, stepping forward. "And, sir, I intend to find out."

/++==++==++/

 _My first BG fanfic, for your reading pleasure. My muse hasn't told me yet whether there will be a follow up to this story. I rather hope so... but she's in charge of the pen, not me._

I do this for fun, not profit. The canon characters are not mine; the mistakes (without exception) are.


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